Chapter 6

Smack. A grunt.

So if you're lonely
You know I'm here waiting for you
I'm just a crosshair
I'm just a shot away from you

Smack. A tired sigh.

And if you leave here
You leave me broken, shattered, I lie
I'm just a crosshair
I'm just a shot, then we can die

She had been working out for the past hour. Normally she could work out for hours, but with two bullet wounds…it was a little hard, especially since one had nicked her side. She was still healing from that. Her breathing had a slight hitch in it. It bothered her, particularly now when she was trying to work out. She had run five miles before giving up. She had fallen to her knees, unable to get enough oxygen into her lungs. She had actually just sat there for ten minutes before she could breathe normally again.

I know I won't be leaving here with you

I say don't you know
You say you don't know
I say... take me out!

She was now hitting the punching bag, her fists wrapped in white tape. Her breathing was starting to leave her. She gave it two more punches before stopping. She sat down on the floor, her arms resting on her knees, her head between her legs. She closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing. She shouldn't be pushing herself so hard. She should be taking it one step at a time. She gave a small laugh. Right, like she ever took anything one step at a time.

I say you don't show
Don't move, time is slow
I say... take me out –

She lifted her head when she heard the music stop. It was Sark. He had just flipped the switch, turning the stereo off. He looked her over, his eyes coming to a rest on her haggard looking face. He gave his head a shake and walked over to her. He stopped once he was in front of her, and crouched down. He lifted her left arm; the one wrapped in gauze, up and moved it to the side. She winced.

"You're going to hurt yourself," he said, he dropped her arm back down. "You probably already have." She gave a small snort.

"I'm fine," she said, pulling herself up into a standing position. Sark shook his head and gave a laugh.

"Do you ever admit when you're wrong?" His eyes locked with hers.

"Not when I'm right," she said, crossing her arms defiantly. "I could take you on, right here, right now, and win." The smirk that had formed on his face now turned into a full fledged grin.

"You think you could take me on," he said, the amusement clear in his voice. "Right here, right now, and win?"

"Isn't that what I just said?" She asked, "Let's do it."

"Sydney, I'm not going to fight you now. In fact," He said, walking towards the door. "I'm going to leave before things go any further." He was almost to the door when Sydney's voice stopped him.

"Hey pansy-ass," she yelled, "Are you too chicken to take me on?"

He stopped, turning around, an astonished look on his face. "Did you really just call me a pansy-ass?"

"That's what it sounded like," she said, a smirk covering her features, "Pansy-ass." Sark walked back over to her, coming to a stop in front of her.

"Sydney—"

She swung her fist, connecting with the left side of his face. His head snapped to the side, and he slowly turned back. He brought his hand up and wiped at his mouth, coming away with blood. He pressed his lips together, obviously not enjoying himself. He started to turn around, leaving, when she crouched down, her leg swinging out. He fell, his back hitting the ground loudly.

"Come on Sark," she mocked him, coming to stand over him. "Fight me."

He sat up slowly, that mask of his in perfect place. Before she knew what had happened, she was on her back, Sark standing over her. He didn't look happy. "I'm not fighting you, Sydney." He turned around again, but she wasn't having that. She kicked her leg out, hitting the back of his knee. He fell down on one knee, his hand covering the other. Before he could react, she dove at him, her momentum pushing them both onto the floor.

They both grunted as the cold concrete connected with them. Sydney landed on top, but before she could use that to her advantage, Sark twisted them around. They rolled around on the floor for a good five minutes before finally stopping, both breathing heavily. They both rolled onto their backs, gaining their breath back.

Sydney stared at the ceiling, many thoughts flying through her head. What the hell was she doing? Sark and she were rolling around on the floor like a couple of kindergarteners. She never could stand people telling her what to do, especially Sark. So why was she doing this? Because she just had to prove him wrong. She couldn't help it. She had a problem. She could admit that. What she couldn't- no, wouldn't do, was admit that he was right, even if he did happen to be right…

What the hell was he doing? He had been reduced to rolling around on the floor. Rolling on the floor…that is what Sydney Bristow had reduced him too. God…that woman. She could make him so angry, but at the same time…he couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was when she did it. No. No…he was not attracted to her. He couldn't be. It would destroy the whole reason she was here. But at the same time…

Damn. He was screwed.

"Have you had your fun yet?" Sark finally asked, pushing his thoughts away.

"Fun?" Sydney repeated sarcastically. "You think I'm having fun? I'm just proving a point."

"And what would that be?" He asked with a sigh.

"That I can beat you," she said. She sat up, leaning on an elbow over him. She bent her head down, stopping just inches from his face. "Any time, any place."

"Does telling yourself that help you sleep at night?" He asked with a smirk.

"Does telling yourself that you can beat me help you sleep at night?" They stared at each other, then both laughed. Once their laughter had died down, Sydney's gaze went to her hands, which were sitting in her lap.

"What are we going to do?" Her voice was soft, a hint of fear in it. She looked up at him, a tear rolled down her cheek. "What am I going to do?" Sark had been silent; finally, he looked at her. He tilted her chin up with his hand; met her eyes.

"We're going to kill them all."